To the child drifting out at sea
by Mad Demonheart
Summary: After a greatly failed, Lance is plunged into an eternal sleep by Druids and Haggar's magic, meant to be sent somewhere his mind wouldn't survive. Instead, his soul takes physical form inside another dimension, his memory being the counterpart. Now disoriented and amnesiac, Lance must gather his memories to come back quick to his real body. Time's ticking for him and the team.
1. Breathing in and lose yourself

He knew where to draw a line. To stand his own ground, to keep himself together. There was still a remnant, something dark, akin to a black, deep Void, which always threatened to engulf him and his heart. Leaving behind only a soulless shell, with the denial of feelings. Perhaps with the simple but awful inability to feel anymore.

Sultry whispers, murmuring death sentences in his ears. Darkening his fragile heart, with the black ink of their words, flooding inside and twirling, melding with the blue. Drowning himself in a sea he fought everyday against, just to keep his head at the surface, and avoid sinking down. Escaping the depths of the abyss, coming closer and closer each time he found himself recoil an error, a mistake from his past.

Only space, survival and death waited for him there. It was maddening to think about. Already giving him headaches on the point.

It became almost insufferable to live. To even believe his own life, view what was going on, what's happening.

And at those very moments, when it felt like everything was falling apart, the ground moving under his feet, calling for him to kneel down, crouching and just submit in calm water, instead of rushing, violent waves crashing with him. It was at those brief, but numerous, periods that he had to settle down for a moment, and just remember _how to freaking_ ** _breath_**. Inhaling with fervor through his nose- and exhaling through his mouth deeply in one long drag, eyes closed, focus elsewhere, on a beautiful dream, just to prevent himself from _dipping at the bottom of the ocean_.

He would've liked the presence of cigarettes, a joint, something to help release the pressure. But his health couldn't be discarded by this, not with his actual position. Paladin obliges. It wasn't like he could find anything like that in space. And he couldn't risk himself by taking any alien things with a guaranteed similar effect. Way too dangerous.

After all, who knows how those products would react with a human metabolism? Knowing fully well how low was the number of population actually aware about their race, probably bad.

Survival. Space. Death. Three words constantly ringing in his head, heavy with sense - now more than ever - and filling the atmosphere. In nearly each room he entered, occupying the available place, only letting a cold and dark feeling sinking in, crawling through his skin like it did on the bright metallic walls. And with the incessant battles, always with his life on the end of the line, there was another notion, coming right after.

The quiet. But not the comforting one, no. Deep, deadly silence. Leaving no place for him to get air in his lungs. Hanging too heavy in the air, too low, too...It was too **deafening** to his ears. If there was something he couldn't bear, along with inactivity, it was that. This silence left nothing but ice. An incredible, huge iceberg with the rest of the team on the other side. It was comical, in a sense - it was exactly what he felt.

Having contrasted norms, on a whole new different level than the others, isolating him from everyone. For him noiselessness was unbearable.

A sense of shutting down everything, like he was disconnected with reality. He felt as if he was stepping on infinity, the ground being space itself - no, the Void. Being hush was almost like dying in a way, and he couldn't like it, support it, tolerate it. No.

With him, walking on the Void in a precarious balance, feeling emptier than the open space displayed under and around him. As if...as if, with the prolongation of it, he'll finish by forgetting who he was.

Lance.


	2. Dip in, Dug in

Lance Juan Andres García McClain.

Born in Cuba, in Varadero, near the beautiful Varadero Beach.

Boy in his late teens - just turned seventeen in July 28th.

Long and lin, with thin limbs and features.

Tanned skin, short brown hair, and deep blue eyes.

As blue as the sea under a stormy night sky. The exact storm twirling in his mind nowadays. Messing up with his thoughts, drowning his emotions in a whirlwind of water, rushing and crashing in. Tornado devastating him through the inside, leaving only rubbles his long fingers desperately tried to grab onto, to hold on, nails scraping on the weak, fragile bricks. All just to avoid being swept up, whipped from the ground of sanity he was on.

Almost to no avail, though. He knew he was dipping under the longer he stayed there, watching, listening indoors. What couldn't reach couldn't hurt.

But what was heard caught him straight to the heart.

He wanted to puke. All the salt, all the clear blue liquid, bypassing his thin barriers, which he thought so solid...All the tears from the ocean he created, with sobs and pain, despair clear on his features. An iceberg melting down, slowly, surely enough. Huge, towering his heart, it was casting its shadow on him. Obscurity with words, and an unnamed shape - really? He knew it, though. He already knew everything.

Knowledge is your best friend and your worst enemy.

How accurate is it? The door to awareness was open to him, but he had to hold on its key now, to fit in the hole - suffering.

He was wailing, hurting from the inside out. Wounds opened, deep enough for him to die, bleeding blue.

A blue where he could find himself gladly drown...but deadly.

He could taste the salty water aggravating his injuries. Varadero Beach was so close, but at the same time so far…

The crystal droplets couldn't help him with reality. Just reminding deep memories, where he remembered being happy and in peace with himself and the sky above, lost in an innocent oblivion he would have kept, with it rolling down his face. A wonder, a matter - " _It tastes the same_ " but it's not. Sour, tastes like melancholy and sadness. Nostalgia can only do so much with tears of a stolen innocence. Cries of the innocent are the most heart wrenching view, especially for the one whose smile can light up the whole world, and put celestial bodies to shame. But the stars stayed the diamonds of this dark sky, shining upon them all. And Lance was basking in them too, marvelling on it, if it wasn't for how icy they truly were...Being the only watchers of his endless struggles, the ones surveying his silver cage the Castle's become.

He couldn't blame the Universe for its doomed fate. But at least, it could let him rest. Because he was just as doomed himself, destiny sealed in fatality.

Bloody fingers holding onto his blue heart, slowly filling with the shady waters of doubt and hurt. And he could only drown in eternal abyss, while his teammates were swimming above. And he could only watch the ones he learned to love for their true valor, while being dragged down. But who could tell? He was lost in a dark forest, yes, lost child in unknown, obscure territories.

And no one can hear you scream in the woods...

No one, except this. The quiet.

The silence was death. The silent was the dead.  
And he could only bear so much. But he could always scream, right? He could...if it wasn't for the ones he loved. It's not better to shut up, but at least it avoids arguments. And he was _sick_ , it was sickening, getting him ill, because it got nowhere _every goddamn time_ , and he just wants this to stop - ! Some days, he just wishes he wasn't. But wasn't what? That he wasn't so dead inside, wasn't struggling so much, wasn't homesick, wasn't so dead inside at times? He couldn't tell. There was so much he could say. He was many things. Maybe the single answer was if he _ceased to_ _ **be**_.

Existing is a chore, but he could only do it gladly, because he was already thinking too much about it.

How it would be like, if he wasn't there. And _it didn't scare him as much as it should_. Maybe after all he was a ghost in the shell of a living being. But just how alive can it be?

It was all quiet water, muffling his sensations in a dull numbness, and he could only surrender to the surface mirroring his dead mind when times called for it, his body floating above like a corpse. And the sounds of calm waves running over his body, licking his fingers and his toes, filling his ears in a sorrowful contentment.

Alone and fading away slowly in an abyssal ocean of navy ink made out of the crystal blue droplets leaking from his now indigo eyes.

* * *

Maybe he was bound to be lonely.

Alone within the others. What a cruel destiny.

He was wondering. Bounded to the ground, held back by words and a full ocean. Waves upon waves caressing his toes with tenderness. One which broke his heart.

There was nothing kind behind them.

Waves upon one another washing over his thoughts and memories. On his bed, he closed his eyes, hearing the far away sounds of the night, the voices of the underground, his heart dripping blue, stained white. No darkness. Just a foggy grey covering his thoughts, twirling in his head like obscure whispers were hushed by the noises of the ocean next to his ear, drowning him in nostalgia. He remembered the rain, tender, peaceful, soothing his nerves and washing away the black ink biting his fingers, painting his mind. The feeling of the water rolling on his skin, the velvet of its caress. The shining pearls hanging on his lashes, blurring a tad his view. And then the river of diamonds began leaking from his eyes shut. A breathless gasp wrenching itself out of his sore throat - too little talk, too much silence, perhaps it's the contrary.

What could he say though. He was lost. Lost at a sea of despair, lies and doubts. He wasn't certain to ever see the surface again. He didn't know if his voice could be heard in the Void of oblivion created under his feet, slowly creeping around him, threatening his heart, creating a lump in his throat. He was silenced by the salty liquid filling his mouth. Tasted bittersweet.

Sour in his liquid mirrors who serves him as eyes.

Was he a blessed child? His mama always told him so. Saying constantly to him, back home, _"Eres destinado para grandes cosas hijo!"_ ,in her booming voice, beaming at him with a big smile and an undying enthusiasm...Ha ha. It probably died down at the same time he did. In memories, that is. He was certain that after the Kerberos incident, the Garrison would erase their existence. No doubt he's dead and buried, and his family is living with the aftermaths. He knew how much they were attached to him. It could be felt in his veins. Himself was craving them like water in a desert. He was dying of thirst, swallowing liters of sadness. Homesickness, they said. That is indeed a desert of ice, where he was frozen, lying down on the snow, slowly being swallowed into a frozen lake.

God how he was lounging to hear the laughs, to see the smiles, the happy chattering in the familiar language he desperately wanted to listen to, along with the delicious lyrics rolling on the tongue of his older sister, Hannah who had a real talent to captivate everyone. She has teached him how to go in the highest notes when singing, which he performed to the point of not having a great strain while doing so. He had his skilled voice, and the grace of his oldest brother, Amaury when it came to move around. He remembered when they would pass afternoons make up dancing contests, and when Amaury would teach him some sick moves he would try to copy. He actually cried when he was able to make his first choreography which he created himself, rearranging slightly some of his brother's moves. Amaury often invited to join him to their small skate park, where he would be with his friends. They weren't as much as deterred as their first time seeing Lance with their "bro".

The booming energy of his mother, Sofia, except that he was overloaded with electricity, and a real desire to live way above his mama's level. He was often seen running around in their neighborhood, always with some other children. It didn't stopped when he got older, always laughing and joking around with some really close friends. Then, there was his rational and tactical side, coming from his other older brother, Nahuel, with who he learned to play chess, and strategic war games. His want to discover the worlds he came upon and travel, he took that from his uncle Paris, and the sense of music from his husband, Orfeo.

When he had his first interrogations about his sexuality, he came to them. Orfeo has been a role model for him, like Paris.

He also liked his young aunt Iliana, the one who gave him his pretty good aim. They used to wrestle when she came back from her work and went to their house. She made him learn how to shoot targets at different angles and distances. Nerf games were always a big challenge with her! She has been in the military forces, now working as a special agent. She said she was fighting for good causes around the world, crossing paths with her brother and his husband at times. For him, she was a Lara Croft of the real world. He reminded himself of his fifteen's, when she recorded a video where she shot multiple times in the air to play the happy birthday song. She offered him a real gun and one of her military insignias. _"My most precious one"_ , she told him. After that, they went to a laser game, and he teamed up with her. They were indestructible.

His playful side came from his younger siblings, Isis and Isidoro, even though they were about Pidge's age, one year younger now that he thinks. He liked to wrestle with them too. And they brought him hell, but they were still funny as hell, and even if they bickered, it was cool. They played a lot of games together, and he came to overpass his need of electronics with them, even though there was a lot of banters with 3DS and other consoles. They would bring along their cousins of their age, Maël and Alyx. The nights of sleepover with everyone were filled with laughters and a lot of screaming when they were with them.

Speaking of bickering, there was his older sister and his brother of the same age, Juliana and Frederic. But, even if they bickered a lot, he found in those arguments something...funny, a note of lightheadedness, something he doesn't think he could forget and separate himself from. They were nice when it was needed, and when they felt like it was the time, really helpful in the worst moment. Real brother and sister. He would never exchange them for nothing in the world. It was silly, but Keith's and his discourses and challenges reminded them, and how they used to work at three. Promises were made with them too. He missed them so much…

His cousin of the same age as him by now, Amour. Both inseparable, doing everything together. He had their sensibility. They were always paired up in familial parties. They also seeked for Lance's twin, Fidel, with who he got loyalty and strong-will. The three of them were a diabolic trio, but they loved each other and were also angelic. Though everyone ran when they knew they were in for a prank or something. He shared everything he had with them.

He never stopped loving them both, even after they came out respectively as nonbinary and trans. Their family was kind of tense with the revelation, because link of blood, and _"what concerns my family concerns me"_ , but Lance never cared about it in this way.

He got acceptance and tolerance from Amour. Understanding from Fidel. He was proud. And they were too, of him.

Developed brotherly side and the sense of responsibility with his youngest siblings, Pedro, Caliste and Bianca. They were adorable and all, but also little demons when they wanted to. Sometimes - scratch that, many times Lance took for them, but his mother noticed when he would lie for them half of the time. At those moments, she would just sigh, and offer a warm chocolate to her hijo. But he would still go to bed without desserts, or worst, without dinner. However he did watch over them, and has teached them a lot of things to know on the world, and the rules of politeness, the allowed swears (some banished ones still filtered incidentally, and his mother got to him with a shoe for that, while Iliana just laughed because she was there to witness that the first time). He was like, a second parent for them, even more than a brother, since his dad was very much never there to play with them, always too tired or feeling too little invested in their lives.

His papa, Rodrigo, from who he learned patience, and how to huld grudges. But also how to fire back to comments, to defend himself verbally and to be proud of what he had. To keep his head high and straight in front of the dark, just like Iliana told him to. And he also learned to forgive, way, way after he thought he already knew everything that has to be known.

Then, he learned true love for the first time, along with his sexuality with Cameron. A mysterious teenager who made his heart bit hard in his chest, like he never felt it. Green eyes, straight dark hair in a square reaching a bit under his chin. Pretty pale. A plain clothing style, with various patterns, but he noticed floral ones, with wings and cranes. Strange in his own way. Mysteries always attracted him, and he loved to solve them. Delicate features and magnetic aura and charm.

And last but not least, Lissandre, his 'near-twin', an autistic albinos boy around his age who wandered around, and was basically adopted by his mother and the rest of his family at home, passing most of his time there (to the point of him living inside).With him, Lance learned a new form of understanding, maturity and brotherly love. The notion of loving someone with all your heart while not being lover or connected by blood.

All of them were the ones who marked his life, even if there are more family members. They were the ones he remembered pretty well. The rest was fading slowly, coming back in broken records. And he hated himself for it.

He prayed for all of them. He wanted them to be safe with all his heart. If only all the familial conflicts could be solved. He did know that his family wouldn't take his 'death' well. But he didn't know to which intensity the familial damages would be, and under which form they would be presented.

He wished he had a good star. To light up his path, instead of the cold darkness under his feet. Like he let footprints of the space on the Castle's alleys. Sparkling with little stars, in the beautiful mix of dark colors the galaxy sported. Always leaving a Void behind him, although he was stepping on it every times.

He was drowning in blue, and no one can stop him. No one could. They couldn't have stopped him.

It was a freefall. He deliberately let himself fall down.

To die to know what it's like to be alive.

He'll sleep for now...


	3. Far away to the stars

**Hello hello, this is the author who's talking! So, I'm Mad, nice to meet you darlings.**

 **I'm sorry I dropped directly the first two chapters on you without much explanations. I should be more careful about putting notes, haha! So...This fanfiction is also on AO3, and has a way better resume than that, with more precisions. I'm gonna put it here, just so you can profit of it too.**

 _"With him, walking on the Void in a precarious balance, feeling emptier than the open space displayed under and around him. As if...as if, with the prolongation of it, he'll finish by forgetting who he was._

 _Lance."_

 _The mission went down as an utter disaster._  
 _If only they could've seen it all, see the downfall...But it's too late. Lance is now gone by any means, his soul swiped down by the doors of a whole new dimension, leaving only his body behind - lifeless, soulless shell. Druid and Haggar's magic putting him into an eternal sleep, one he can't wake from...Unless he gets help to break through, enough strength in mind to get back to the frontier of his conscience._  
 _Only that, after passing through a door he found...Or mostly a door that found him, and took inside what was meant to be broken, he had to pay a really high price. His memory. While only remembering his name now, he has to go on a blind quest to gain back all his memories, flooding back into broken records, dreams and flash-backs._

 _Meanwhile, the team can only watch and try to not be as vulnerable, without their sharpshooter to smile. If it's not counting on enemies lurking in the shadows._

 **Okay, so that's basically it. I gotta bring more explanations, don't I?**

 **That's kinda upsetting doesn't have the tag system like AO3 does but whatever. So, this fanfiction is mostly on Lance-centric, but there will still be some snippets of the team's hardship without Lance with them. And we'll see their bonds tighten, strengthen or break, who knows...**

 **Precisions:**

 **This work is the first part of a serie. This serie is called Tales of the Awaken from somewhere else, and it'll be probably in four different parts, all successive, following each other. Each main plot of the four parts are already third part will be separated in arcs I think.  
**

 **The ships inside are OCs/Lance, Keith/Lance and Shiro/Lance. Also some one-sided Lance/Lotor. Okay, so the polyamory there will be with Lance and the OCs won't be endgame. Actually, it's Klance. BUT I trully hope no one will badmouth any ships inside. I'll try my best to make my characters appreciable just like I created them in my own little world, and explain a bit more my world.  
The Keith/Lance won't happen until later in the serie, possibly at the third part of it at last. The Shiro/Keith will be a temporary thing and is mostly a sane ship here, okay? There's no mind manipulation, and they will be sweet lovers, so I don't want anyone to spit on it. There will be other ships too, and it'll happen later, but that will be a surprise - and don't worry, nothing dub-con and manipulative in love relationships.**

 **About my OCs: I created them some time ago (even years before I knew Voltron) and I put all my love into them to create them a backstory, and give them a special role and place, while putting careful attention to give them flaws. I'm sorry if you don't like them, but I'll ask you to be respectful of them still (meaning not calling them bad words, especially without a good reason). They all have different sexuality and genders, I tried to represent a lot of the LGBTQ+ community. It'll show in the serie, don't worry about it. I'll try to make a specific page with extra precisions about my OCs, and you might know their sexuality and exact genders there (if it has been hidden).**

 **What else there's to say...Ah yeah! This fanfiction will have arts! I don't know if I can put them here, though. It'll probably be on AO3.**

 **This fanfiction is really angsty - the whole serie will be (except maybe the fourth part?) and you're gonna get tortured by feels if I do my task right. I love writing in a lyrical way, but I also write in a modern writing setting too. So you'll probably get a mix, it's highly likeable. There will still be romance, and I can tell you the ending will be disbelieving (I think it'll be). I hope you'll like reading this fanfiction though.**

 **Inside, yes, Lance will get amnesiac. And his family, introduced in the second chapter will likely hold a special place in this fanfiction. I'm not gonna tell you much, but you'll get to learn about them - probably a lot. Also, it's not his canon family because this fanfiction was already planned out with the names and siblings and cousins, etc. And this before the true release of their name.**

 **It's normal if some people will act OOC. For y'all who love Shiro, he'll act like a dick, but he'll have a reason to - and it's not exactly concerning Keith. A lot of charas will act OOC at first. And it will shift constantly. Also, Lance will grow, so yeah.**

 **Well, I think I said everything.**

 **Don't hesitate to send me reviews, I'd love to have feedback on this story and find new ways to improve myself, or knowing you liked (or didn't liked) it!**

 **Thank you a lot for reading darlings! See you soon hopefully for the new chapter!**

 **PS: Yes, I wrote the title of this fanfiction based on a music which reflects the whole serie and this entire first part itself. It's from an artist called Owsey, and it's amazing! You should hear it before anything. But I'll probably put a link when the big even will happen inside.**

 **You might get more songs too while the fic goes.**

 **That's my call to leave. Have a good experience, hopefully!**

 **And don't hesitate to check out the fic in AO3, there will be way more precisions for you (sure enough).**

* * *

 **Far away to the stars**

He always made a wish to the stars. He may not believe in God, even if he was dragged to the church in Sunday by his mother, but he believed in them. Beautiful far away lights hanging in the dark ocean, like sparks of light in a pool of navy ink. So outstanding, lightning the path of those lost in the cruel night covering the dull world with a blanket of obscurity.

He had stars on his ceiling, at home. He watched them every night, in the dim light of his room, when he was still afraid of the dark. Those days, he would smile.

Now, he had a window opened on space, for the first time. But it felt as unwelcome and cold as the Void his heart coexisted with, the one where he was walking above, stepping with careful feet on a thin line. This void which wanted to take him away, whispering oh so sweet promises to his tender ears, which lived too heavily to be innocent.

He used to smile to the stars when he saw them. With childish wishes, the purest and most innocent one under his heavy eyelids shut.

Now, he just wished for his survival, and the promise of his death for another tomorrow.

The pictures arose again on the mental image displayed in front of him. His family, his previous friends...All from a past life. He felt like he didn't belong there anymore. He wasn't any longer in the picture. He would never be. He'd never been, anyway...

And slowly, those memories faded away, like the hollow tone of an old music box.

When he entered, all eyes turned on him. He hadn't mean to disturb. He was just really late, yeah, but he got to finish his training with a higher level than before! It was great, with how much he trained. He finally felt he could keep on the team's pace, and might even overcome their leader! But it was a dream...Even so, he could still wish for that, no?

Oh, but that's right. He already had a wish. They told him requesting two wishes wasn't nice for the stars.

He might not be a child anymore, but he still had respect for any form of living. They can't be granted with many asks. It wasn't fair.

He noticed how everyone's plate were almost finished. He almost missed the lunch, it seems...He made a move to grab a plate of the green space goo he got used to, after it felt like decades that they eaten this, and sat on one of the free seats, right between Pidge and Hunk. He excused himself for his late arrival, smiling to the others. Somehow, it stirred slightly his face. He didn't remember it. Had it happened before? It felt like his smiles became less genuine. It was a worrying thought. If he wasn't able to smile at some point, who would? He feared the answer.

He felt uneasy, for some reason; self-conscious about something, as if someone was watching him...At first, the Cuban made no sign to move. But then he felt even more doubtful, the feeling in his guts getting stronger. He slowly lifted his head and turned it the slightest in the direction where he knew the Alteans were eating, like it was some sort of assigned spot. When he did so, his bright sapphire locked with another cerulean blue. Allura was staring at him with wary eyes, like she wanted to ask something she wasn't confident about. The face of skepticism. It was what she was giving him.

Lance narrowed his eyes. Why was she looking at him like this? What had he done? She seemed really tough. He didn't goofed off though! She had no rights to stare at him like that, judging him with her merciless gaze like he was some kind of dumbass who goofed all the time. It wasn't his super awesome skill, he didn't mess up all the time!

If Allura caught his wary expression, she said nothing. She remained stern, but started eating again nonetheless. Lance didn't stop sneaking sneak peeks at her during the whole lunchtime.

At some point, Pidge noticed it, and just offered a cheeky, sly grin of her own, voice honey but snarky: "Watcha lookin out there, Lance?"

Allura snapped up, almost catching Lance in the process of staring silently at her. The other mumbled something, eating. At Pidge's surprise and slight disappointment, he didn't blush at all. Not even a light pink dusting his cheeks. The green paladin sighed lightly, not bothering to ask anything else, focusing instead on her food goo without another word.

Lance watched the holographic Earth, asteroids and stars floating around. He thought about making a wish to his home-planet instead this time around. Just for tonight, he said to himself, where someone entered the room. He recognized those footsteps, vibrations emanating from heavy feet, however with the lightest sound possible. This was why he didn't bother turning around to greet the intruder, knowing he'll come around by himself.

Sure enough, a big arm came hanging on his shoulders in a gentle pressure.

"You're watching Earth?"

Lance nodded, favoring the silence. Hunk gave him a light pat on the shoulder in acknowledgement, before humming thoughtfully.

"I wonder if they are all good back there…" he voiced out the current biggest concern they both had in mind. Saying that made him a bit lighter; a bit bitter too in counterpart, but he was a tad more fine now that he told it to himself.

The Cuban teen next to him never answered. His shoulders were hunched. It looked like he was deep in his thoughts, which were catching him and holding him back from seeing the world around him. Hunk made a anguish, knowing smile. He looked ten years older this way.

A last rub to the back was all it took for Hunk to warm Lance up and leave without a sound. The brunette buried his face in the small space between his chest and his knees caged up by his arms, just letting the smallest breach between the two limbs to be able to watch the blue planet. Blue as his eyes, oceans shining in front of the ghost of bright stars with unshed water. _Your Earth or your eyes?_

 _Blue._

He wrenched his heart out, tearing it up like a furiously desperate animal. It dripped blue in a pool of bloody sky, like it broke in an ocean finally shed after millenary. It dripped in torrents of tears raining from cerulean skies, without a stop.

 _It'll die out_ , the beast said. _It always does_.

But surely enough, he found himself swimming in a lake of azure, tasting streams of salt and copper, stifling droplets of bloody eyes and mouth, bloody heart and thoughts. Then he knew, he was wrong.

Tired. That was the only word that came to Keith's mind when he looked at Lance this morning. What the hell could he do, to look this exhausted? The Korean was so certain the other would never trade his beauty sleep he was so fond of with anything in the world, but guess he was wrong. What could possibly make him appear like this, though? Was he…

Keith's eyes widened for a second, expression of mortified horror on his face before he coughed awkwardly and wiped his mouth with a jerky movement. Nah, it couldn't be that. Even if the walls in this spaceship weren't the thinnest, and had actually a pretty good isolation, he could swear on his heart that the Cuban wasn't doing what he guiltily thought seconds ago.

The raven was so absorbed into his reflection that he didn't notice the way he was staring at Lance absentmindedly.

The brunette turned around, catching Keith's blank gaze. So, that's why he felt observed. He sighed quietly, releasing a huff, before stretching. His arms and back gave a satisfying crack, loud enough for Keith to have him snap out of his self-induced daze. He shook his head slightly, blinking after a too quick come back to reality. He noticed Lance watching him with a strange glint in his eyes. Something akin to...suspicion?

The Korean turned immediately wary of Lance's next moves. He was surprised when the other just huffed and turned his head. He sighed in reassurance, but the question shooting out of the brunette's mouth made him tense like a rubber-band about to snap.

"Why were you staring at me?"

The raven could watch Lance's shoulders stiffen in apprehension, obviously waiting for an answer. The teen's posture screamed ' _danger right ahead_ ' to him. He was nervous, frozen in shock and unable to make the smallest move.

Keith considered not answering. But it would've been too cruel from him. He might be not a lot considering of Lance's happiness, the boy being annoying at his best times, but he wasn't that much of an asshole. That's what he told himself, at least.

"Well…, he started, you look like shit."

Okay, way to go Keith. You just told you weren't an asshole. _That much_ , he reminded himself. He still got this privilege, and besides, the other was infectious when he wanted to. _When he wanted to._ Right now, it wasn't the case. Keith gulped, the flame in his eyes shaky, barely there, shivering under a wind of uncertainty and anxiousness.

Lance looked taken aback by his words. He was sure he was gaping like a fish out of water. He _felt_ like a fish out of water, anyway. Jerking on the warm sand burning his scales mercilessly, the air around burning his gills with high tension and wariness, sharp against his shiny skin. He snapped his jaw shut. If they were some months earlier, he would've come with a comeback, a bad or a good, it didn't matter. But now...he came upon growth. It was war, after all. He knew better. It didn't mean he'd stop to banter. But he didn't do it right away, or for no reason apparent when time didn't called for it.

He expected better out of this. But he was wrong. He's been wrong before. His ripped heart was lying there in the cage of his body, the shell he was hiding in everyday, held by wires of blue, _his veins_ to remind him. Of the times he could have been someone else. Of the times he could have been a better person, more reliable, more fierce, more trustful. Of the time he could've been like **_him_**. There was nothing to it now.

Lance evolved, but he did so by himself. And he'll do so in the future.

He noticed the tone Keith employed. He analyzed what he said. He almost always do now. Was he getting too suspicious of everyone? He shouldn't be, and he didn't know why those instincts were kicking in. The other boy's tone was deprived of any malice. He voiced this with the 'matter-of-fact' voice. Lance knew from this that Keith was saying an obvious but uncomfortable truth. Oh, how awkward of him. Putting them both in a situation like that.

He shouldn't have skipped his beauty routine.

Lance rubbed his neck in blatant discomfort. Keith looked just as awkward, he noticed with sympathy. When he opened his mouth, the other flinched in apprehension, preparing himself for a fight, super aware. Lance released a tiny breath, his shoulders sinking down. Keith relaxed slightly in wonder after seeing this.

"Is it that obvious?" he finally asked. "Am I that terrible to outsider's views?"

The other hesitated, before giving a slight nod in agreement. "Honestly? It's...a tad obvious."

"Oh." He said nothing more, blinking in acknowledgement. Keith shifted from one foot to another, obviously in huge discomfort. Lance made a small, exhausted smile. His features were thin, face hollow and shoulders sank. If his eyes didn't tingle with this familiar spark in those warm ocean orbs, he would think he was standing dead, lifeless. Mindless.

Keith shuddered at this idea. His eyes were renewed with a new fire; one of raging concern.

"Lance...are you...okay?"

The other hummed, before greeting Keith with a great smile, his features relaxing and eyes crinkling a bit. The Korean seemed reassured by this. It was when Lance left that he noticed.

The teen never answered his question.

Lance was pacing out in his room. He felt like a trapped animal, curled on itself in a silver cage. Black thorns circling the bars, with blue roses dripping fresh tears of blood. Bloody blue as the rain he missed.

His heart was torn apart, and it threatened to be shredded into pieces. His safe haven was dark, lost into a merciless sky depraved of stars. Grey sand taken away by the furious waves coming in torrent and boarding his sanity, the waves crashing down in despair and fear. Upon it all, he watched it all with bloodstained eyes dripping silently like the wound of the sky, not as a master, but a simple bystander, unable to stop the storm, and watch chaos unfold.

The distress call was somewhat of a surprise. Those past days have been mostly calm, going at it seemed the least of everyone thought, himself included. Maybe it was for him only. The others looked more ready to fight than he himself was, from what he saw. Also from what he knew. But could he really blame anyone, especially his own mind?

They were fighting a war in space, like an endless vast place filled with many planets and dangers, and more entities that he ever knew before coming up here. This last note sounded like the biggest mistake of his life. Coming there was a mistake. He could see how, looking at how he was drowned numb, almost dead alive, walking shell. But he understood his role. He understood the importance of it, the mission they were assigned. He couldn't turn his eyes away from pain, and the suffering occasioned to innocent populations. There were too many people like Shay before she was saved by them. Without counting on Earth, than the Galras were dangerously close to.

But the funny - no, ironic thing here was that he was also in pain.

It wasn't physic, no. _Not yet_. It was an everlasting pain, one he had before coming here, only remnant in the shadows. But it grew, and did so until his so blue blue sky was covered in a heavy black blanket, a night sail taking its place, storming up above with the violent blow of wind, whistling in his ears like the thunder of his beating, panicked heart.

"Lance, you here with us?" A kind voice, honey warm and sweet resonated, echoing in the walls of his brain in an appeasing murmur. But it was enough to snap him back.

He lifted his head, watching the people organizing the plan. Almost all of them were turned toward him. He nervously shifted over his feet, twisting his hand in anxiousness. He smiled brightly, trying to break past the storm. He managed to create a breach in the thick black coating his landscape. The others sighed lightly, only Hunk looking a bit dismayed by his odd antics.

"Yeah, sorry, I just got sucked into another topic! So, what were we saying?" the Cuban asked with a tad of cheerfulness.

Pidge shrugged and looked at Shiro. Keith huffed slightly, but Lance didn't bother picking a fight with him. It was a useless action, and he matured, thank you.

Shiro crossed his arms, giving him a look. Lance flinched at it. He wasn't ready for that, but he somewhat expected it. He didn't know what was going on between their leader and him lately, but he couldn't put a finger on it. Beside, it wasn't like he had time for it. Playing detective wasn't something he did just like that. The black paladin sighed slightly, before replying to him with his usual serious and posed, tempered voice.

"We're going to help the inhabitants of the planet Larchlian, who sent a distress signal through an hidden beacon in a underground communication central. The Galras seem to have taken the surface of the planet, the Larchlian's ruler was made a prisoner. They don't know where they could be and asked for our help to localize and save them."

Lance arched his eyebrows after processing the information he just got delivered. "Only saving their ruler? But...isn't that weird? Don't they care about their planet's fate?" he asked unsure.

Shiro gave him another critical look. "They also do want us to save them, but I didn't believe it needed to be seems like I'll have to rethink my judgment, though I got to say as Voltron, we must save everyone. You should know our mantra by now, Lance."

The blue paladin's shoulders hunched slightly. He tensed, gazing at Shiro with a slight defiance. What was that about?

"Anyway, we'll have to prepare this. Coran, can you please give us the information of the planet?" he asked politely. The advisor nodded, beaming in excitement when the spotlight was given to him at last.

"Well paladins, Larchlian is a planet made out of a lot of watery surface. It's covered in half with a dark ocean, the other half being a gigantic forest made out of cerulean trees with light azure leaves, and a sort of volcano with its rock being an unknown but very resistant and interesting material. It's a pretty sight to bear, honestly! I remember in my youth-"

And Coran went into a detailed explanations made out of his own memories over the planet. The others sighed, trying to catch up or either stop Coran in his speech. Normally, Lance would be listening with infinite pleasure, amazed to hear about another planet and Coran's stories about his child and teenage-hood, but he wasn't up to part today.

Instead, he thought about what Shiro told him back then.

Why was he so...hostile nowadays? It wasn't a thing before. But lately, his leader seemed into a passive-aggressive state. And he could only witness that at the moment Shiro got his attention on him. Or maybe he was overthinking it. It wasn't really the biggest secret out here that he wanted Shiro's validation and recognition of his work. But almost no matter what he did, it seemed useless. It was after defeating Sendak and the Castle's incidents that he observed what were little changes in his watchful eyes. Well, watchful in his opinion.

He didn't want to think about it. He shook his head slightly, only to miss fingers coming his way to snap at him, threatening to enter his eyes by his sudden jerk.

"Wow, what the cheese?!" he squeaked pretty manly. He looked at his assailant. "Keith, just what were you thinking?"

"You looked out of it, and Shiro deserved to be spared of another call back." the raven explained simply, a sly smirk forming at the idea he just startled out Lance.

"Well in that case, act civilized! You don't almost blind someone by pricking their eyes when they are spacing out, you brute! You almost got your fingers in mine with your dumb snap, and I'm sorry but I want to keep my 20/20 vision, because I need my perfect aim as this team's sharpshooter!" he finished on a high note, anger showing itself like flashing neon in the dark of the night. Then, the brunet turned to Shiro, eyes screaming desperation and pleas to shush the red paladin who looked way too proud and cocky after his little stunt.

His eyes widened at Shiro's words on the fact.

"Lance, perhaps you should go and take some rest. You seem to be too tired. You zoned out two times, and Keith reported me you looked exhausted this morning."

Lance's mouth opened in a 'O' shape, jaw dropping wide. He...didn't he notice anything? And just - just what? A permission now? Was he…?

"But...shouldn't I stay for us to plan the mission together?"

"Yeah, wouldn't it be safer if we're all there to plan, instead of having Lance getting updated on it?" Hunk asked, defending his friend with a calm but firm voice.

Shiro instantly shook his head, not even considering both of their suggestion. "No. Lance, go to your room and lay down a bit. We'll plan it from there and will check up on you to let you know what will be decided here."

His tone was firm, and left no place to protestations. Lance dropped his head in defeat and turned his feet, walking toward the big doors before exiting the room for good. He couldn't help but remember once in his room, that Keith has never stopped to grin after he told to go in his room. And that nobody aside from Hunk tried to defend him.

Tonight, he made a wish to the stars. Bathing himself in faith and beliefs, powdering himself in stardust and swim within them. He felt cold, chilled to the bone. Lighter than either, he thought he swam upon the floor, elevating himself in gracious movements. What was displayed in front of his open eyes was a beautiful landscape, one he thought he missed.

He recognized the shape of his home-planet and its distinct color.

It's at this moment he knew, he was dreaming awake. He felt heavy, almost crushed with the realization. He wished he didn't, because then he wouldn't be able to fly again. He didn't feel like ending it. Why should he? There was a remaining risk for him to crash down but…

He knew he couldn't keep this up. So, he breathed slowly, and blinked only once in slow motion. Then twice. Another, and he came back to his sense, a hand connected to the glass of his room's window, opened on the vast space, stars reflecting on it, effectively brightening up the material into a sparkling litter of rainbow stains. Standing upward, straight like a 'I'. He fell to his knees in wonder, and didn't got up.

He didn't know when exactly the rain came, falling down from his blurred sky. But today, he would let go in tears and rainbow, invaded with a cold chill from a far away azure sky.

This morning, he felt anguish. He was okay, but there wasn't any real emotions left aside from dark vibes curling around his ankles, slowly gaining territory on his sensible, bare skin. It wasn't like he's not left vulnerable to energy he encased in his heart was nearly over consuming the monsters left in his dark chest, but he still felt a bit off. It was a strange thought, for a weird heart.

Lance looked out for others. He found a paper (where the hell did someone found a paper in this Castle?) on the side of his pillow, covered with a curly handwriting, all with beautiful huge loops. He recognized Hunk's style. He figured his friend found him asleep already when they finished planning. He probably didn't have the heart to wake him up, so he just left a note. It was kind of him, but somehow it felt too cold, too impersonal. He suddenly felt like he was back in the Garrison, looked down upon by others. And the note was a convocation to the consumer of souls, the fiend who ate his brain.

And it crumbled down in ashes and despair. _How cold_...This feeling of death he felt so suddenly.

He shook it out of his head, and read the little note. He read:

 _"We'll be going in teams. You'll be with Pidge, you are tasked to cover her up from any invaders while she'll try to hack the main Galra central system established on their own network by the underground main control room, and assist her in her task the best you can. So, you'll be with the dangerous hackers. I wanted to have you with me, but you know the rules, sorry bro!"_

As soon as he finished reading, processing the words methodically in his head, a shiver ran through his body. He was unsure about the task he was assigned. He'll have to deal with technology? He got to experience some things with his older brother Nahuel, thankfully. And while the others were off doing their own activities in the Castle in break times, he was left most of the time wandering around and talking with Coran about the castle technology with the brunet lately.

What bugged him was the fact he'll be alone with Pidge, and would be the one to back her up. He was a bit surprised about this. Sure, the Green paladin needed a back up if she was going to be hacking a Galra system they weren't really informed about. But somehow, it felt a bit...wrong that it was him who'll cover her up. He had wish a bit to be teamed up with Keith, fierce water lurching in the glass walls of his mind and the breached, broken and ripped out heart he was withholding desperately in a feeble grip. He acknowledged his feelings, he was forced to. Voltron depended on it, and he couldn't permit himself to run away. The fact that he tried to avoid confronting his emotions proved that he hadn't grown as much as he thought and wanted.

He didn't want to deal with more than friendship and the awareness of having a new family at his side. Love feelings were going to be complicated, committing himself in a relationship in the middle of a damn _intergalactic war_ was very risky, and what made this all more dangerous was the fact that Shiro was already on his back about wooing Keith. Plus, his current relationship with Keith wasn't exactly the best out there, especially to start something like Lance deeply desired.

Feelings were something he valued originally, but this was killing him. Drenching his limbs with an exhaustion, physical and mental, and filling his brain with numbing water. The coppery ocean was moving along with his thoughts, gracious but deadly. And he was screaming in his mind, voice bouncing off on the glass walls as hard as steel which wouldn't let him budge, shouting desperate prayers for something - please, someone - to come and get him out.

But he was facing a merciless sky and a doomed fate in a half-dead brain and a ripped, stained and drowned heart. And it poured down in a rain of tears, blood - sweet, tender bloody blue - and sweat - fear and anguish, anxiety clawing at him.

He won't lay down though. He promised that much to his mother - he swore it to himself; he'll try love, because Lance loved. He loved so much, it could pain him at times. Because he cared too hard. Involved himself too deep. And it all comes crashing down like water. He knew that, but he couldn't repress his nature. The Cuban teen couldn't deny what he grew up with. Love isn't a safe haven, but for him, it was everything he could think himself belonging in. And his torn up heart, drooling rainy sky was hanging on these feelings which tormented him, but that the Blue paladin couldn't help cherishing.

Lance shook his head, smiling pitifully with thin lips, and got up. His legs and arms ached a bit, and his back and neck were a bit sore when he stood up on his feet. He moaned in pain, the low sound echoing in his room while making small, stuttered steps, before bending down carefully and stretching his long legs in a slow but gracious split. They cracked forcefully, so did his back when the teenager arched it, putting himself in a bridge position. He then lifted his legs high up in the air, standing straight on his hands before setting down backwards his legs, and standing up on his feet again. He continued his morning stretches in peace, before exiting his room and going out of his way in the Castle.

He wanted to beat himself up for not waking up sooner, almost forgetting to go see Shiro and confirming that he got and read Hunk's note about the mission. He also wanted to clarify some things. He hummed, thinking about what he was going to ask, and how to word his asks, but all his focus went flying out of the window when he crashed into someone. He looked down, apologizing while landing a hand at the person he accidentally ran into.

Bright hazel eyes considered him coldly. They were definitely not as sweet as their honeyed color right now, settled in a glare directed right at Lance.

The brunet gulped slightly. His gaze landed on the laptop which went flying, even though the impact hasn't been that harsh - right? Pidge's voice rang through the air, snapping Lance's focus back on her and catching all his attention. Her tone was accusing, her lips set into a hard line.

"Damn it Lance! Can't you freaking look where you go?" she cried out. Her shoulders were thrumming with a nervous tension, her fingers as twitchy as her hazel eyelashes. Lance recognized the signs of anxiousness, pouring out of her and coating him in a clog of dark fog he felt suffocated in. "I asked you a question" she snapped again, colder. The Cuban winced a bit at her tone, and her eyes soothed slightly, but her voice stayed as sharp as a knife, cutting through the thick air of the atmosphere surrounding them. "Hey, can't you actually focus for once?" she asked. "You're always wandering off in your own world. I could've been killed if it happened in another situation by your fault!" At the moment she pronounced the last words, she knew it was too late to take that back, and she felt a small piece of her heart filling itself with guilt. But she couldn't let herself show remorse. They were at a war, and those kind of things were important, no matter how said. In any case, better her than Shiro putting Lance back in place. She knew the brunet, and she was aware that their leader's words could crush him.

Lance, on the other side, looked like he got slapped in the face. He felt small, have been called out on this incident. He swallowed, and cleared his throat, before answering her. "I'm sorry Pidge. I will be more careful next time." The girl nodded at his answer.

"'s fine. I wasn't exactly looking anyway, so I'm kinda at fault too. I hope my laptop didn't got cracked or anything" she huffed out, not really noticing the intake of breath close to her. Lance got up carefully, and apologized one more time with a slight smile, checking on Pidge to make sure she was okay and staying around to see if her laptop wasn't harmed, before turning on his heels and rushing off. Pidge looked at him go, wondering slightly with disbelieving eyes. She sighed, deciding to let it pass, and not thinking of it anymore. She turned around too and went on her own way, catching what she thought was a glimpse of black and white.

Lance walked through the big halls, not bothering to look where he went, gaze focused ahead in a blank space. He forgot what he wanted to do before talking to Pidge.

His feet were guiding him through the Castle, seeming as hollow as ever in the silence and the dark alleys, barely lit by slow luminescent lines, glowing kindly. He didn't feel particularly mad at himself for wandering around in unknown parts of the Castle. Weirdly enough, the dim lights and shadows provided him a vague feeling of safety. He felt a bit comfortable there, in the semi-darkness. It lacked music though, the brunet thought.

He rummaged through his pockets, but didn't actually manage to find his phone. He sighed softly, a bit upset about this. He wished he could hear some nice songs, quiet and calm like the kind water of the sea in a summer breeze. Thinking about it reminded him of home. The Blue paladin sighed again. He analyzed his surroundings quietly, sapphire eyes glinting under the baby blue fluorescent lights. He couldn't see his shadow from where he was. For a second, he thought it was a bit weird, but he choose not to question it.

After being sure to have memorized the place, he turned on his heels and went on his way back to the main and liveliest part of the Castle. Sure, he liked this quietness he got back here, in the almost numb darkness, but what he preferred was a place where he could feel energy and emotions cursing through the air, a space thrumming with _life_ \- life and love, something far too different with the Void and Space. He lowered his head at the thought, eyes covered by the shadows. When he lifted it again, he felt himself gasping harshly.

He was still in the dark areas. He looked around, to no avail. He lost his way back to the light. Suddenly, the darkness didn't feel as comforting anymore.

Lance shivered. He considered all the ways he could go, but he didn't remember anything from his quiet walk within those unknown halleys of the Castle, aside from the one he quit not so long ago. He shook his head slightly, inhaling deeply to keep the panic at bail, not wanting to suffer through a panic attack when he was alone in the dark. Thick black surrounding him, barely lit up by those same damn thin lines on the walls. His ripped out heart was beating madly, sea water rushing through his lung, raging in his mind and invading his limbs. He could feel himself being pulled under, sinking inch by inch.

Suddenly, he heard a weird sound. He looked around, before feeling a vibration a bit under his neck. He reached out in his hood, to touch a rectangular object. He jerked a bit, before reaching for it again, and grabbing firmly the unidentified object. Then, Lance flinched in shame. What he got so afraid about was his own phone. Thankfully no one saw him make a fool of himself. He'll keep this little scare secret for sure.

The cellphone continued to ring loudly in the silence. What was deafening to Lance at the moment, as surprising as it is, was the quiet all around him. He was glad that he found his phone. There were no more ideas about listening to music after he got his hand on it. He looked at the caller's ID, to find nothing. The phone just...rang...itself. The Cuban considered questioning this info once again, but quickly decided against it. Not because he'll bail though. With his phone, he got to have a brighter light, and music to keep him focused and mostly relaxed, even with his wary stance. It was the best he could ask for to manage to find his way back.

The hallways were threatening.

The shadows seemed to move in a harmonious ballet, leading up to unknown paths in a gracious demeanor, that he couldn't appreciate at its accurate worth. Needless to say, Lance was scared - no, terrified. Unconsciously, he brought his arms around him in a self-reassuring hug, grabbing tightly the spot where his injured heart would be. He felt compelled to close his eyes for a moment.

From then on, something weird happened. He felt a bit funny, for no reasons in particular. He felt himself being lighter and lighter, flying gently through the kind breezes like a blueish feather, as clear as the brightest sky. The Cuban thought about becoming an angel. Almost felt like wings spread from his back. Then his fingers brushed something, and he snapped open his eyes.

He wasn't flying, nor was he inside the corridors anymore. The room which greeted him seemed to be from another time. The light was deemed, but it was still enough to have most of the room in open visibility for Lance. The Blue Paladin was appealed by the decor which seemed to come from a painting. No, it gave a slightly different vibe...The level of brightness in the room made him think of... a really old memory. He felt strangely melancholic, seeing it all through distant and watchful eyes, becoming hazier at the second.

As if on cue, a seemingly ancient tone ringed tenderly through the air, pulling at Lance's fragile heart's strings in a unsuspecting nostalgia.

Glassy waterfalls fell down beautifully in a majestic slow motion, frozen in time.

The old, hollow tone filled him with emotions he couldn't describe. His eyes were carried to another time long since gone.

It was weighing on him with hard feelings. A deep and gracious sadness grazed his features, and he didn't doubt about its physical visibility. Melancholy ringed sweetly through the air, nursing him to a sleep-induced daze.

He felt like a pure and innocent child, far away from the responsibilities a paladin held, miles away from the war, ported to a farther place which he didn't recognize but felt at peace, so familiar, like he belonged here nonetheless.

He didn't know when he fell, wrapped up in a velvet cocoon of nostalgia, but his wings sure felt lighter, kind breeze filtering through his hair.

When Lance woke up, it was dark. The scenery wasn't the same. He was still as alone as ever. The room was covered in dust, some equivalent of spider webs hanging out of walls, dark corners and furniture. He thought for a moment about why he was here, and the suddenly neglected appearance of the room. Then it came to him he must have been dreaming. But the Cuban didn't know a valid reason of how he got in this room in the first place if he really had been dreaming it up.

It occurred to him he could have been daydreaming, or sleepwalking perhaps, but he couldn't remember a time when someone told him about one of those he could've been doing subconsciously. Why would he have done it?

What did he earn out of this? What was the meaning of this? He couldn't understand a single thing.

Then Lance took in account the headache which threatened him to take him down by any seconds, and put a hand on his head, rubbing carefully his temples, massaging them with gentle fingers. He moaned in pain, a barely audible sound almost muttered under his breath. Somehow, it managed to be echoing around the room, bouncing on the walls and mercilessly attacking his already fragile head. He kept himself from cursing, figuring it would have the same result and thus doubling the pain.

The teen blinked at least once or twice, but he couldn't find it in himself to get up, in fear of toppling over and physically damaging his body. He was lithe and got bruised easily, and his tan skin was light enough to show off dark and purplish injuries. He didn't need mocking or pitying glances, and another free access to the healing pod guaranteeing his uselessness put in front of the team's watchful eyes.

He took this sweet break time to think, never thinking about what time it could be. It was like in this place, time has stopped to flow (not that it seemed likely in Space) and he was isolated from reality itself, trapped in an illusion lost in a void of dreams and broken, fleeting memories.

What was the team's deal, recently? Everything seemed harsher nowadays, each jab coming to him as a full blow. It was starting to seem more and more like a society casting itself. How everyone have categories in today's world. Aside from economically settled ones, dividing the world in parts for rich assholes and poor people, the country's resources and materials and their monetary average depending on their population and their main occupations. No, the brunet was thinking about the roles and labels attributed 'gracefully' by other teens of his age to everyone - because it was well known, teenagers always have a say on anything, constantly taking a go at the world for making them study and feel like shit most of the time - starting from their teachers and their parents, then other family members and other kids (bullies or 'weaker' fellow livings) and finished with the rest of the world and with some bad thought and deprecation, themselves.

He knew because he was one of those teens. Everyone has been. Some didn't went out of it (he snickered lightly when he thought about Keith, but hushed down when he remembered his stunt from earlier), and rare Earthlings never experienced it.

Those casts were a general thing - inwardly and outwardly. Some didn't care about being loud, generally those untouchable and unreachable except if you became their clones and did the same wrongs; then again you had to be careful not to overdo, even if it's not considerably you and your part which are overdoing. There was "the unloved ones", generally "nerds", "weirdos" (mostly emos and really bad or dangerous-categorized delinquents - those ones are lone wolves). It wouldn't surprise him if Keith was one of those - and hell again, he's still reverting his thoughts-pattern towards him). Also those who didn't have high-prized clothes with marks and didn't suit their tastes in physical appearance, were considered ugly for some differences or a body which wasn't like their own and suffered a bit - those overweight, too thin, with a too small chest, or too big...

Girls which were really well proportioned are labelled as "sluts" and often critiqued by other girls, which forbid them from blending in, even if they wore fake sweet smiles and greeted them cheerily. Just for a peculiar choice of outfits, or breasts which are bigger than some - not that Lance is an expert, he actually looked at girls in their eyes before even contemplating the idea of looking at their assets - it infuriated him when he was younger (and still a bit now) how a lot of persons believed he was a pervert just because of his flirting. Beside, this all thing with the sluts ran with hypocrisy, because some of the bad mouths did actual plastic surgery for their own chest and even face, he had no doubts on it. But he didn't judged the facts, just the hypocrite accusations. He had been friends with one of those "sluts", a beautiful girl called Scheeraze. He missed her, she was a good friend. And in contrary of others' beliefs, she was still a virgin and was a bit uncomfortable with the idea of sex. It just, didn't came to her to have the want of it, or have desires to maintain a physical relationship. It came to him she could be an asexual or demisexual, but he never asked her. She came around the topic eventually at a Gay Pride they went to without their parents knowing, when he told her about his own orientation.

He closed his time and sighed, pictures of Scheeraze resurfacing in his head, flashing before his eyes. He could still hear her laugh, beaming and loud instead of the sweet giggly one those who didn't know her pictured the girl with. He smiled sadly, feeling bittersweet. He avoided to shake his head, not wanting to aggravate his headache, and refocused his thought-pattern on the categorization of society by young teens.

After the "unloved" and the "sluts", there were the "average", 'basic teens' who didn't sort out, but were okay enough to hang out with when convenient or at least a bit appreciated. By extension of it, there are "the ghosts", which sticks more toward the "unloved" ones, mostly the weirdos. Lance saw a lot of artists or people dressed differently than common and popular teenagers of their age. They were discriminated in a way, and even bullied sometimes, but it often was like they were never there to begin with. And they suddenly appear in a new light for just the sole moments when they are useful. Their personality and behavior varies, but it's normal. Everyone's different, and some people are sharks in school.

It continued with the "genius", known also as "nerds" too and "freaks" because of their different mentality. Their way of thinking did impress many - again, Lance was one of them - and could be really kind to those enraptured by their knowledge and the desire to know them on a more common ground, to a close (personal) level. The brunet made friend with some. Geniuses are always stereotyped and called out on things. He didn't envy their position, but he tried to defend his friends without exposing himself. Being smart didn't always help you finding a back up for bullying issues.

There were the popular kids, usually "jocks" along with the cheerleaders like any American high school cliches. Also some kind girls, because not all popular teens are evil, but there's still a counterpart of them, people with fake-sweetness, who adored to "break some sugar on others' back", yours included. The hate was strong toward them. There were the outward bullies, but they were mostly guys - cliche thing, yeah, but girls are still more subtle in their bullying, it's indoors. Lone wolves and bad boys type of bullies didn't get along well - as surprising as it could be, some lone wolves got sense of Justice.

Belonging to a club with physical activities or other skills which showed off impressing assets augmented the chance to be popular. But it didn't mean all members were popular - that's the biggest miscalculating you could do.

Then, there were the people who were too cool but not surrounded by friends and all. Kinda like the lone wolves, but not quite delinquents in general. They were in their own worlds, and getting to be close to them and have a piece of it was a real honor!

And to finish it, there were people like him. The one everyone thought as "goof". Who weren't allowed to be serious, because no one has the right to get out of their cast. To affirm themselves. " _We can't deny who we are._ " Even if it's not us. Because it is, in the eyes of others. All discourses, all issues, the society itself and its organization lay on pointed gazes and watchful eyes.

Everything is a question of point of view.

No one can come out. Lance couldn't break the shell of stress-relief imprinted on his skin. Because in every lie, there's always a part of truth. And it's from lies the brunet is alive. A tower of masks and sentences built carefully with behaviors and back ups, and he was at its peak, sadly watching below and forward, a horizon which is invisible for his blinded, covered eyes hooded by years of silence and false promises.

The crystal blue tears ran along the cracks of his worn mask, fallen droplets in the depths of space and time from a poor soul at the edge of their breaking mind.

When he finally decided to move, he didn't know how much time he spent in his mind, watching from afar the sea he filled with his shining watery eyes.

He walked with a tad of wariness, observing his surroundings with a non-apparent careful gaze. He still felt trapped, confined by the claws of darkness. He decided against listening to music, not wanting to be taken by surprise, throat slit by a threat blending in the dark mass surrounding him like a vice. This was not how he envisaged his day. Actually, he didn't thought about anything at all. He just felt lost. But wasn't that a recurrent feeling and thought already?

How many times had he thought about his own demise on this alien spaceship? How long did he lost his fragile, wavering grip on his life? How often did he saw himself drifting out in a desert ocean, all left to himself on a fragile boat? Threatening to be thrown over by a crushing wave crashing in the gnawed wood. It all felt so real - too real for Lance comfort. And at some point, he'll fall. Alone in the merciless sea, raging through a storm he couldn't survive from, leaving no other choice but to drown. He had a say in this - did he?

The Cuban teen shook his head, eyes shut in cruising worry. He suddenly felt more tense, his stance less open. His brows furrowed in concern, but he smoothed them to left his front open, ready to strike at any shift. He took one small step, and it happened. The shifting in the air made him open his eyes in a hurry, eyes blazing furiously lit blue, but the icy flame found nothing. Nothing over than bright lights instead of cold and constricting shadows he was basked with until now. Lance turned around, expecting to see the dark path he borrowed his steps on, but he wasn't greeted with its sight. Just a seemingly endless corridors with glowing lamps set on the wall like candelabras. All lighting up the empty hallways in a surgical way. The teen shuddered slightly. Only now did the darkness appear comforting, lulling him to peace and calm when those bright lights burned his retina without any consideration for his fragile orbs, now lit pool of clear sky accustomed to the dark twirls of an ocean under the dim night lights, the rolling of waves before his eyes lulling his tense body to a sloppy daze, hushing his senses to a tender slumber.

He found himself being harshly hit by the brightness of the light, prickling at his eyes to the point the blue became blurry with shiny droplets, the force of it striking him like lightning.

His mind shook along with his eyes, his head banging against invisible walls.

It felt like the railing would fall on his head at any moment by now. He felt jostled, his brain mindlessly tossed around.

He felt it wouldn't be long before he passed out - dare he say again? He tripped suddenly, feeling cold wind hit his face. Lance braced himself for the impact, preparing the pain he would most definitely receive, delivering the killing blow to his poor head. But it never came. He could feel a firm pressure on his waist, maneuvering him up. He felt like a rag-doll in his savior's grip, whoever it was. There wasn't any comfort he could find in being saved from the immediate impact with the ground.

"Thank you." he said while turning around, before freezing in place. The man facing him looked at him with an unreadable expression, lips tight and eyes glazed over. He simply nodded at Lance in recognition.

"Don't mention it." Shiro said, seemingly calm. But Lance saw in his stance _something_. As if his leader was struggling with an inner debate. Struggling with himself. Before he could ask anything, however, he was already turning away, wandering deeper in the hallway Lance was before he disappeared from his sight. The Cuban teen thought about what he saw for a moment. What could be bugging Shiro so much? It must do with him. He could see the look of his leader on him sometimes, crawling on his skin and silently judging. It felt like he was being watched everywhere.

The areas around him were more familiar. It was the one he was used to pass. The fact that he was used to it was scary. It brought him even further from home. The distance never felt so big for him until now - when he acknowledged the Castle of Lions has his living place.

It made him feel like he should come to a realization he doesn't want to integrate. One he doesn't want to having sink in.

How his life could resume itself in those empty silver walls, within the bottomless void of Space, swallowed up in the depths of galaxy, trapped existence with its stolen freedom, eaten by the maw of the large white cage of Purity and good will.

The way back to his room was a blur, skipped in profit of thoughts, devouring Lance with sharp teeth and shredding him with black claws, his mind in shattered pieces of glass, reflecting the broken image he became. His thoughts were taking the appearance are dark shadow monsters twirling on the walls and surrounding his head, covering it in a cloud of darkness.

When his door whooshed open, his gaze fell on a little black box with green lines, and a flower. He recognized a technological pattern from Olkari, and knew before hand who could have deposited this in his room while he was wandering in uncharted territory. Lance walked towards it with slow, punctured steps, and once he reached it, bent down to press the golden heart of the flower. Immediately, the green strips shined, and connections were circulating, making the cube thrum with energy. From the golden button of the flower's core, a record appeared, opening up in an hologram screen setting. Pidge's fluffed hair, bangs sticking in odd directions, defying the gravity where the first indicator of the stress she put herself through - a sign she definitely rucked her hands in her hair, messing even more her 'bird's nest'. She was fidgeting, covering at the eye's visor of the camera, not wanting to face it.

Lance felt his eyebrows raise in curiosity and worry. Then her clear voice rang through the room, clear with a hint of guilt and distress, something she hid well behind her large round glasses and her fluffy hazel bangs.

"Lance, if you're watching this message, it's because you weren't in your room, and of course you had to choose now of all the times to disappear." she sighed. The her nose crinkled and she blinked, grimacing lightly, as if she felt Lance's wince, even if it was certain that she recorded this more than a few minutes prior.

"That's not how you show guilt and apologize to people, Pidge." she huffed quietly, probably speaking to herself. She seemed to have forgotten about the record, but went right back on tracks, a few minutes after, trying to even her voice in a softer tone. "Right. If you receive this, it's because I wasn't able to find you, and it's fine. I can understand why you would flee people's presence. I won't question it, it's in my reach of human understanding. And I know you're not a robot. I guess I just forget that sometimes, we humans do have a heart..." she breathed out. The lithe girl looked really tired; as if she hasn't slept in days. _It's probably what happened_ , the brunet thought, while continuing to watch with careful attention the rest of the record.

"Anyone would want to cower away after such harsh words. Hell, I'll do that too..." she said, sounding sad. The Cuban felt himself nodding in agreement at her sentence. She continued, unable to see what was made before her. "I just want to apologize for my bad behavior. I've been an ass there I guess, and I said hurtful things. I don't want you to think I meant it." Her tone was apologetic, eyes blinking fast behind her glasses. "Well, that's it. I hope you're not mad or anything, but I understand if you are. Huh...See you Lance." she said, rubbing awkwardly at her neck. Then she reached out for the recorder, and the screen suddenly shot down in a flash.

Lance pondered the video message for some times. He decided to not go out of his room for the time being, still showing at dinner and once again being answered truly by Hunk and Coran, the others just nodding in acknowledgement of his presence for the evening. Pidge was nowhere to be seen at the table.

Some time later in the night, when all went to sleep, Lance actually stayed, blending in the darkness. Nobody saw him except Hunk, the guy wishing him a good night with a intrigued look. The Blue Paladin had just smiled thin, nodding at Hunk and giving him his own goodnight wishes. When all exited the room, finally, he went to take some leftover food goo. Lance knew the Yellow Paladin put them in an easily reachable place. It was Pidge's dinner. The brunet didn't put any consideration to it, grabbing a clean plate and tucking the leftovers in it. Then he made his way out of the room, engaging himself in the newly shadowed area. The walk was silent, a bit tense. The air seemed heavy with unknown innuendos Lance couldn't catch. The teen almost felt in a stormy night, where everything was calm before the thunder will hit home.

Then he reminded himself of the place they were in, and the only loud explosion he'll ever find will be the bang of ships blown away by lasers, scraping the metal and blasting their way through it. Tearing apart the silver cage guarding his heart in a prison of white walls and blue energy.

He'll suffocate if he screamed. The shadows were already sucking all the air inside.

He almost stumbled again, lost deep in his thoughts as he was, onto the petite form of a teenager, sprawled on the floor, a laptop near them. Lance recognized the shape of the person below, the soft breaths and huffs being the only signs she was asleep. He knelled carefully, putting the truck of food next to the girl, and made sure to cover her with his jacket. A slight mumble and a shiver made his skin crawl in anxiety, but nothing was to announce. So, he slowly withdrew from her, and fled the room - which happened to be the communal one. He felt guilty for letting Pidge like this, passed out on the floor. But he didn't have the heart to move her.

He sighed, going back to his room. Closing the door on the darkness, but it couldn't leave, following him instead indoors. Shadows never leave one's sides.

"Come on, what are you doing?!" Keith screamed in the coms. The Blue Paladin could hear mad typing behind him, keyboard smashed by thin fingers, agitated with desperation and precision, motivated by a fierce instinct of survival. The same spark which was gleaming in his eyes, setting off a wildfire of blue, dangerous flames.

"We're trying to get a quick access!" he whisper-screamed. He could hear the battle raging outside, the walls screaming in agony at the outdoors damages, ceiling suffering under the great weight of war. It was like apocalypse had come on a whole over planet, bringing back to the dust of creation the world they were stepping on, with the great destruction in tears and ashes. It was war.

Lance gritted his teeth. He wanted to shut his eyes tight, but just a blink could compromise their whole mission. If Pidge was hit while he wasn't looking...Hell would break loose, for real.

He sighed in frustration, nerves slowly getting to him. His right foot tapped in rhythm on the floor, fingertips playing a hollow tune to his ears. Pidge groaned from where she sat, clearly bothered by the noise. "Stop that." she ordered. The nervousness was transparent in her tone. She didn't mean to be harsh - probably - but the stress of their predicament and the weight put on her shoulders was getting to her. "Come on, come on, _come on_!" she grunted through her teeth, growing stiffer each passing seconds. Her jaw ached with the harsh clench she did, pressured as she felt. Lance could clearly see all of those facts. He felt the urge to cradle her, caressing her hair and patting her back to help her.

Long tentacles of smoky dizziness enrolled themselves around his limbs, covering his eyelids and making them droopy with memories. Children's laughter, a sweet citrus scent and rust, the softness of silky hair, the golden stains on tan skin, the saltiness of an endless blue...And then the taste of copper, and red, deep anguish red filled his vision, his mouth and drowned his lungs and his eyes. Screams of agony rang in his ears, thumping loudly at his eardrums like the rushing blood in his veins. An echoing scream stranded the air.

Lance gasped, suddenly well aware of his position. The screams were suddenly lessened, more distinct, to the point he was able to discern 4 different voices. _His teammates_ , he remembered. And then he came back to himself, and closed his mouth, only noticing now that the last cry was his.

"Lance!" Shiro called. "Get a hold of yourself!" He demanded with a stern voice. Lance cringed at his tone. He still felt like he couldn't breath, and that blood was gushing down his throat, long drowned-out lungs collapsing on it, his nose unable to take a deep inhale.

"Lance!" Keith repeated alongside Shiro. "Where's Pidge?! What happened to her?" he asked, stressed worry in his loud tone. _Pidge_ , Lance recalled. He slowly lifted his head, pain bursting in his muscles, black spots dancing in his vision. His heart god, his torn, dripping heart was pounding hard, glass cracking a bit under the pressure of the voices, and the loss of Pidge in his field of vision. He shall see her. The brunet realized that the underground's base ceiling where they set camp has collapsed on them. The cage was closing in, it was taking Lance and now the Green Paladin, and he couldn't be there for her...

He was reminded of a closed, tight area, filled with shadows and dark premises, danger hanging on the smooth walls. The corners of his mind were shattering at a Earth-rattling pace. Everything was crumbling down, the pieces of his being stranded deep under, colliding with the shadows of his demons hanging below to watch him.

No. He shook his head. He had to find her. His helmet was cracked slightly, making it difficult to see through the broken visor. But he could make out a tiny breathing not so far from him. Soon, he was able to recognize a tiny leg, peeking from a piece of debris. It twitched slightly, then he heard a light cough. _She's alive_. He wanted to cry in relief. He was meant to watch over her. Nobody would forgive him if something happened to the little genius. The debris didn't seem too large, and have barely hit her, actually forming a slight dip. She was under them, seemingly having been protected from the major impacts. Slight bruises were visible, but she was mainly covered in dust.

This entire analysis only brought Lance to put further attention to his own situation. And now that he could take a look, adrenaline still running through him by the shock and numbing the pain to its maximum, it was **_bad_**. His legs were crushed under a heavy debris - he was afraid they could've been mangled by it. Some bones were definitely broken, his ribs having been hit by some pieces of the ceiling themselves, one of them making him writhe desperately in agony. His right arm was sending him desperate signals, and he realized with horror it was almost maimed by a sharp piece of alien cobblestone from the ceiling, pierced deep. It seemed to have touched a nerve. Lance couldn't, in no way lose his arm. He felt sick. He could feel a sticky liquid running down his temple, filling his mouth with a taste of copper. A metallic sent filled his nose, and that's when he understood he was hit by a rock on the head. He could have a concussion, he thought distantly. Somehow, the idea didn't disturbed him that much.

He tried to answer the other Paladins, but it was difficult to keep tracks on so many voices. His head was heavy, and it was so hard to focus. Monsters were eating at his brain, and his body was slowly consumed in shadows, numbed into the slumber of lost nerves, pain and limbs slackened to the soft, fragile handle of his mind, crumbled on itself.

He wailed a bit. The room became silent, then Hunk's voice broke in. "Lance? Was...Was that you? Oh god what happened out there?" But his voice already sounded far, farther carried away...

He tried, he really did. Gripping on his last working brain cells, and mustering the little saliva he still had, overcame by the coppery taste and consistent, slippery and heavy carmine substance. His tongue finally managed to move, forming small, hushed words. "'nk...Trapped...need 'elp...'ease...Pidge's...am..." he continued. Then the numbness blanketing his limbs in a cold and fuzzy embrace was suddenly replaced with blazing hot warm, and he found the voice to scream, squirming in pain.

The pain, the pain was overwhelming - it was prickling hot, he was on fire, he- please help, send someone, anyone, please help him! His vessels were exploding, he was certain blood was gushing out of his veins, heaving his limbs. As the adrenaline was fading out, he felt his muscles tear in sheer agony, screams mingling themselves in the rush of the blood battering in his ears, bouncing on his breaking mind, his heart at the edge of shattering, pain rattling his bones to his very core. But blood and bile was constricting his mouth, and he eventually had to let go of his thin handle on consciousness, fading and drifting out in his sea of numbness and misery, flowing with the cold waters of his deeply torn glass heart, echos of panicked screams carrying him far away from the hurt of reality.

His mind was fleeting in cold air. He heard faint whispers here and there, hushing around him, conveying him in. He felt, but he couldn't feel. It wasn't a sensation, an emotion. Definitely something, a spark where he couldn't put words. A wave of cold and warm, monochromatic colorful words, hundred of feelings and a bottomless pit, emotionless void...He tried to grip a handle, but it didn't budge. Just whispers all around, sounding far, far away, and he opened his eyes to try to see something, feel around the handle.

But he couldn't find it in the mere slit he could see through, only watching a purple hooded figure with pale hair and hearing more faint whispers coming to his ears in what seemed to be a chant. He felt something then. The same thing, but it was a bit clearer, coloring his vision. And he couldn't talk, he didn't have the voice to, it has been stolen from fatigue.

He needed to...

 _'ll - ear - e - oon... L-ce...for la-r...soon._

 _ **Deep, slightly sparkly purple.**_

When Lance woke up, he was alone. Or so, until he fell in a strong pair of arms. "Careful, Lance!" a cheery, though slightly worried voice peeped in. "You just came out of the healing pod. Don't strain yourself." it continued. Lance recognized Hunk's big arms, his embrace warm and comforting. He felt like he could sink inside it with delight, and just fall asleep right there. But he already slept.

It didn't make sense how tired he felt.

"Hunk..." he whispered, and he could hear the hitched breath and the slight shift in Hunk's stance, sign that he was listening closely despite his better judgment. "I made a strange dream..." he said. The brunet slowly blinked, light purple dancing in spots of his vision's field, twisting in beautiful curls. "Purple..." he whispered. Then he went out cold in Hunk's arm. The other teen gasped in shock, not expecting to have Lance pass out in his arms. He called for Coran, the Blue Paladin's head lolled back, never noticing the shadow hanging close around his friend, barely noticeable nuances of purple whispering to Lance's ears, caressing his skin.

After the incident, when Lance was back to a more acceptable condition, he felt something different. A shift in the atmosphere. Something definitely changed. He felt weird and wrong, and couldn't exactly recall what happened during the mission in Larchlia. But he felt like he shouldn't ask. Shiro kept looking at him with an intense stare. Darkness was oozing out from him, obscure aura reaching out for Lance, crawling on the ground like dangerous snakes, sizzling the cold metallic surface and ready to suffocate him in the heaviness of Shiro's dark demons.

The fact that he was able to see their leader's aura should've been enough of a giveaway to the possible new predicament he got himself into. But it wasn't. Because it was like nothing meant sense. His brain had been split open, and the crack in his heart, further opened.

It was like people were avoiding him. The snaps were frequent. He held a position of stress-reliever in the team - he knew that since the first days of Voltron's journey. But lately, it became more...aggressively shown and evident. Even more physical, in the harshness of Keith's and Shiro's hits during their sparring. If the leader considered him with silence, however, Keith seemed to recognize a limit line. But it didn't meant he was willing to apologize. The Black Paladin's behavior seemed to spur him on for that.

Pidge seemed to be avoiding him too. Something definitely happened back in the underground area, and he hasn't been there to protect her. But she showed clear repulsion at his proximity and contact, snapping at him with harsher words. She still deposited messages to his room however, keep saying how sorry she was, but the more it went on, she just looked more and more insincere, her and her apologies in Lance's eyes.

And they bled blue, blue and bluer, droplets became river, and the flow was a waterfall of bitterness and anguish.

The missions were becoming more and more crushing, he felt them in his bones, overbearing him with a gigantic stress, anxiety weighing on him, inner demons whispering about how soon will be the time he'll fail to keep up and will tumble down.

Meanwhile, he hang on the last interactions he still had with his friends.

 _Friends..._

Hunk was sweet. The Yellow Paladin inspired home, warmth and comfort. He had this natural aura, which made it natural to come to him, wishing for protection and seeking a freedom he long lost. They said he should wish for survival and more time, more before the warm, white sand slipped out of his fingers in strands - but he still had prayers for hope and liberty. Must freedom carry his wings.

But they melted a bit under Keith's furious words and near-screams between ragged breaths and snaps. When Hunk forgot he was injured during a fight, where it all had seemed normal for them, even though he was whimpering in pain on his own line.

And wings became feathers fleeting in the cold breeze, and his clear pools of blue shined in droplets and endless floods.

He'll snap soon under the overpowering feelings, his demons covering him, cooing at him in honeyed and deadly words, dark sentences and it all came rushing fast; faster, too fast, too quick!

And purple, whispering, chasing after him, surrounding his body, cradling his limbs, crawling on his skin...

The beast was raging, furious, desperately trying to break against its bounds, wanting freedom. It paced out angrily, it shoved with mourning anguish, already knowing the vain aspect of its blazing fury, but everything felt hot and cold, and it howled wildly, pulling so hard it rattled the walls as his bones shattered under agonizing screams, thundering in his mind to move his core.

It howled loudly, crying out for freedom with raging fury. But it has been stripped from itself long ago. _Why didn't it die?!_ it screamed in furious anguish. _Why didn't it die out? It should have disappeared!_ it screamed raw. It wanted, it wished, it felt.

But no matter how hard the beast pushed, nothing came of the silver cage. And soon he drifted out in azure, cold and deep, slowly darker in the depths of its mind.

Of Lance's mind.

And when one day, he eventually smiled down at the communal table, swinging in his arrival, it was one of deep sorrow, when no one answered him. And within the voices, the world suddenly drained out of colors, and within the laughs he heard only the deafening silence of loneliness, and the dead beat of his shattered glass heart, gushing in crystal.

He was alone out cold, drowning in loneliness where thrived the ones he knew. Now strangers of his mind, his heart didn't recognize, laying dead in crystal pieces on the floor, flooded with vibrant clear blue, bittersweet with salt and sadness. And purple, slowly seeping in the remaining droplets, the slightly upturned corners of the lost shadow of his small, quivering smile, until it disappeared. But it stayed.

The beast never left his side. Purple followed him in his downfall.

Lance fell and collided with stars, a river of starry nightsky.

It wasn't a lake, nor was it an ocean. It was a deep purple sea, swallowing him whole under his lost friend's blank gazes, enraptured in an empty shadow of honeyed laughs and smiles, bottomless jokes and void of conversations.

It was a deep purple sea of stars.

 _You'll hear me soon Lance, for later. Soon._

 ** _A deep sea of purple twirls and arabesques, and silver stars a child was ascending to, beginning to drift in._**

 _'or..._

 ** _Child..._**

 _Closing on voices you knew, filled with records you saw, with memories you do, I-..._

The silence is overpowering. Suffocating, it crawls in - the beast claws at the air, thrumming with life and desperation, chasing freedom but crawling survival - burning air - cold atmosphere - shivers - he saw the light - almost...

 _The..._

 **SOON.**


End file.
